Page 28 of Royally Matched
“Nothing,” she replies as she picks up her cup and takes a sip.
“Really? Nothing?” Mummy questions. “That’s not like you not to have an opinion, darling.”
“Don’t poke the beast,” I say under my breath before I take a bite of my jam-smeared toast.
“This one is way better looking. In fact, he’s gorgeous,” Amelia declares, gazing at her phone. She brandishes it at me. “You should go for his hot brother.”
Instantly, I choke on my toast, coughing and spluttering as I gasp for air.
“Are you all right, darling?” Mummy asks in alarm.
“Fine,” I croak, my throat hot, tears springing to my eyes.
“You’ve gone all pink,” Mummy declares.
“Toast. Wrong. Way,” I manage because that’s why my cheeks have turned pink. It’s got absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Amelia thinks Marco is hot and that I should marry him rather than Enzo. Really, nothing at all.
“Have a sip of tea,” Mummy suggests.
I’m not going to risk it. The last thing I want to do is spit tea across the breakfast table if—or ratherwhen—my sister offers more thoughts on Marco’s hotness.
Amelia doesn’t seem to have noticed my near-death experience in the slightest when, still focussing on herscreen, she says, “He’s taller and a lot more athletic looking than your guy, plus he’s got a pretty dreamy head of hair and the most lovely aquamarine eyes.”
“Turquoise,” I state as I wipe my eyes with my cloth napkin.
Amelia raises her brows at me. “What did you say?”
Beast officially poked.
All eyes at the breakfast table are turned on me. Mummy’s, Amelia’s, and Max’s. Even my two labs, Lemon and Pepper, who are lurking around, hoping for scraps to fall from the table into their waiting mouths, seem to have lifted their heads to stare at me in surprise.
Heat rises once more in my cheeks, only this time I can’t blame a piece of toast going down the wrong way.
“That’s the color of his eyes,” I say, as though it’s perfectly fine for me to have thought about the precise color of what could be my future brother-in-law’s eyes. Which it is. Perfectly fine. It’s not like I’m mentioning his scent or the shape of his lips. Eyes are eyes. Everyone has them.
“I’ve only noticed because although Enzo’s eyes are also blue, they’re less turquoise and more ocean blue,” I add for good measure, even though they’re more gray than blue, and certainly don’t have Marco’s sparkle.
Yes, that’s good. Move the conversation onto Enzo, the man who’s my perfect match, and away from his brother. Much more appropriate—and much safer.
“Actually, I think they’re a sort of murky dishwater blue,” Amelia pronounces, looking up at me from her screen, her nose scrunched. “See?” She turns her phone around to show a zoomed in image of one of Enzo’s eyes, staring back at me like some kind of freakish, oversized eye monster.
It’s disconcerting.
“The polite term is gray-blue, Ami, not dishwater blue,” Mummy corrects.
“Nope. Definitely dishwater blue,” Max agrees, peering at the screen as he chews some bacon.
I scowl at him. “Don’t you have to get back to Cambridge?”
“I feel so very welcome in my home,” he replies sardonically. “But you’re right, I do need to get going soon, so I’d better eat up.” Max proceeds to shovel his breakfast into his mouth as though food is scarce, and he doesn’t know where his next meal is coming from.
“I think Enzo has lovely eyes, darling,” Mummy says.
“I do, too,” I reply with confidence, flashing her a grateful smile.
“Do you know, I think I would make rather a splendid private investigator,” Amelia announces, thankfully putting her phone with the one-eyed monster Enzo face down on the tablecloth.
“Why is that?” Mummy asks.